


Colors

by missmichellebelle



Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Blue - Freeform, Blushing, Daddies, Drabble Collection, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Indigo - Freeform, Jealousy, M/M, Orange, Pink - Freeform, Purple, Rain, Red - Freeform, Romance, Sunburn, Weddings, black - Freeform, getting married, green - Freeform, white - Freeform, yellow - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-06-03
Packaged: 2017-12-20 10:40:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/886302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmichellebelle/pseuds/missmichellebelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of unrelated Klaine drabbles, all inspired by colors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Red

Kurt has a tendency to complain about his fair complexion. It happens mostly in the summer, when people are urging him out from the safety of a roof overhang or the shade of a tree. He dresses in layers that most people would feel suffocated in beneath the sun and completely lathers himself with sunscreen as often as possible.

It’s endearing as much as it is frustrating.

Which is why Blaine is surprised that Kurt even okay’d a family trip into the wilderness, where sun is basically guaranteed and the entertainments of a vacation cabin are hardly enticing enough to be any excuse to stay inside.

It’s exciting, even, that first day, as Blaine and Finn run pell-mell for the lake water and splash in with reckless abandonment. Blaine hopes that maybe Kurt will come in after them, that he’ll turn and find Kurt stripped of his t-shirt and jeans and clad in a bathing suit.

But Kurt just sets up a folding chair in the heavy shade of a tree, sits down, and flips through a magazine while Finn tries to dunk Blaine.

So Blaine makes it a mission to get Kurt into the water.

It’s a lot more difficult than he thought it would be.

By the third morning of consecutive “no"s, Blaine starts witholding things, like kissing and sneaking into one another’s rooms at night.

It doesn’t do much of anything but make both of them more irritable and prompt Finn into asking, on multiple occasions, “dude, are you guys fighting or something?"

Eventually, Blaine realizes he’s going to have to bring out the big guns.

"What if it’s just the two of us?"

"No."

"I’ll make a picnic, and we can eat it on the dock."

"Nope."

"I’ll help you run the ultra-protection sunscreen in, the waterproof kind. Every hour, if you want."

"I said no, Blaine."

So Blaine turns to Kurt, pouts his lower lip, and looks up through his eyelashes.

Later he wonders why he didn’t resort to that in the first place.

"I’m going to burn," Kurt says as Blaine leads them to the water the next morning, hand-in-hand.

"I’ll be as red as a lobster," he insists as Blaine rubs the sunscreen into his skin (and gets very distracted by all his skin, kissing it before he realizes that Coppertone does  _not_  taste very good).

"People with my coloring aren’t meant for planets with sunlight, Blaine." Kurt drags his feet as Blaine pulls him into the cool water, pulling Kurt closer as they submerge further and further until Kurt’s complaints die on Blaine’s lips.

He doesn’t complain again.

At least, until they return to the cabin later that evening.

"I told you! I told you!" Kurt frowns at his burnt shoulders and chest, cringes when he moves due to the burning down the length of his back.

"I’m sorry, baby," Blaine whispers, and he is sorry. But he won’t regret spending all day with Kurt in the water. He kisses Kurt’s shoulder lightly, flicking open the lid of the aloe vera and doodling a heart with the gel on Kurt’s back, causing him to shudder.

"That feels good," he sighs, slouching forward, and Blaine smiles.

"Then I’ll make you feel good." Blaine smears the aloe gently with his fingers, drawing shapes on Kurt’s reddened skin.


	2. Orange

"It just isn’t  _fair_."

Kurt watches as Blaine turns in front of the mirror in what  _should_  be a heinously ugly orange cardigan. Only it isn’t.

"What isn’t?" Blaine turns back to him, eyes bright and expectant and Kurt hates him just a little bit for being so adorable (except, not really at all).

"Orange isn’t supposed to look good on  _anyone_."

Kurt would know. He’d certainly tried to wear orange before. Except in the darkest, rustiest of the shades, it looks absolutely horrible on him. Just like it looks horrible on most people.

Except, apparently, Blaine.

"The cardigan doesn’t look good?" Blaine asks, looking back in the mirror and frowning as he adjusts it.

"I didn’t say that."

"But you just said—"

"Isn’t  _supposed to_ , Blaine. Because somehow you seem to defy all rules set forth by the universe and look good in it." Kurt huffs slightly, crossing his arms.

"You could look good in it. Do you want to try it on? Maybe you just haven’t found the right piece yet."

Kurt’s ‘this-is-so-unfair’ scowl turns up into a hardly-there smile, because Blaine would try to make it that simple. Even though he knows Kurt doesn’t wear orange because it has this horrible tendency of making him look like some sort of midwestern tourist. ‘I’m one fanny-pack away from atrocious,’ he had said on the subject, and that had been that.

"No. That cardigan is very you, Blaine, but I don’t think I could pull it off." He walks up to Blaine, standing behind him as they both look in the mirror. His disbelief has been replaced with the ever-turning cogs of fashionable ideas, and a grin is starting to play up his face.

"How do you feel about orange pants?"


	3. Yellow

It comes down to the yellow cabinets.

"It’s a good apartment, Kurt. The rent isn’t bad, it’s nearly halfway between our schools, and it doesn’t smell like old people." Blaine isn’t quite sure why two of the apartments they’d looked at had smelled like old people, but he really doesn’t  _want_  to know. “And okay, yeah, the kitchen is tiny, but I’ll lose an extra hundred pounds and then we can both fit in there easily."

"Or you can stay out of my kitchen," Kurt counters, walking back towards the galley kitchen. It at least has an opening in the wall that looks into the living room, which makes it look bigger and more open than it actually is. Plus it means Blaine can make faces at Kurt while he’s cooking.

"I think that sounds like a perfectly agreeable plan. So? Is that a yes?" Blaine swings around into the kitchen, which isn’t the best idea. It really doesn’t have a lot of walking room, but if both of them don’t move it’s okay. Blaine leans against the counter opposite Kurt and slots their legs for good measure.

Kurt makes a face, eyes flicking around, and Blaine refrains from sighing. Kurt, during their entire apartment hunt, had been very insistent on their first apartment being perfect. Until he realized that perfect on their budget didn’t exactly exist. Still, he had been hard pressed to make sacrifices, letting go of each one with extreme reluctance. But do they really need a fireplace? Or air conditioning?

"The cabinets are yellow," he finally says, looking back at Blaine.

It certainly is the most obvious feature about the kitchen. It’s not a bold, blinding, highlighter yellow, but the buttery kind that reminds Blaine of sweet things. He’s actually rather fond of the yellow cabinets.

"Yes, they are." Blaine waits for Kurt to continue, but his mouth just presses into a thin line. “I like them." Blaine leans back on the counter, nails tapping against the linoleum (not granite; another one of Kurt’s sacrifices). “The kitchen is small and there isn’t a window, so it makes it seem brighter and sunnier. They also kind of make me hungry."

Kurt snorts with amusement and Blaine prods at Kurt’s foot with his own in retaliation.

"I just never imagined my kitchen with yellow cabinets." He sounds almost disappointed. Blaine pushes himself away from the counter, crowding against Kurt until they absolutely have to look at one another.

"And your kitchen,  _our kitchen_ , won’t always have yellow cabinets. Although I wouldn’t be opposed to that. Our next apartment, our penthouse, our townhouse, our estate in the Hampton’s, those kitchen cabinets can be green if you want them to be."

"Green, Blaine? Really?"

"You’re derailing my speech again."

"Right, sorry, continue."

"Thank you. But the point is, we won’t have yellow cabinets forever. This place… This is  _our_  apartment, Kurt. Yellow cabinets and all."

Kurt smiles, leaning in and pecking a kiss to the tip of Blaine’s nose.

"You can give a passionate speech about anything, can’t you?" Blaine scrunches his nose and smiles.

"Remember the Brussel’s sprouts?"

"Point and case." Kurt leans his head back until it thumps against one of the cabinets and smiles. “So. Our apartment?"

"Our apartment."

The cabinets in their second apartment are white, and the cabinets in the apartment after that are dark brown. Their first townhouse has cabinets with completely glass doors.

Their second townhouse has a stoop outside and a mail slot. It has two extra bedrooms and an office and a breakfast nook. The cabinets have wood and glass panels, and when they walk around together, planning what color to paint each room, Kurt pauses and says:

"How do you feel about yellow cabinets?"


	4. Green

Kurt will never say that he’s used to Blaine being hit on.

Now that they both live in New York, they’ve been approached by a large variety of gay men in vaguely equal numbers. That one barista at the Starbucks on the corner flirts with Kurt a little bit  _too_  much, so Kurt and Blaine decided maybe it’s best if they just stop going there.

The whole being-flirted-with thing doesn’t really cause much contention in their relationship, at least not anymore. In the end, Kurt always chooses Blaine and Blaine always chooses Kurt. It’s almost fun sometimes, and it gives them both a sense of pride to walk around with someone else who is so desirable to the public eye.

Plus, it makes Blaine all possessive in bed and Kurt is  _not_  going to complain about that.

But it’s not the men that bother Kurt so much. It’s the women.

It was something that had happened back in Ohio, something they had joked about. It had been something that had bothered Kurt at first (girls didn’t hit on him, unless they were those weird ‘I can totally turn you straight’ types), but over time it had just become amusing. In Ohio, it wasn’t like it was obvious they were together, at least not in public. Most of the time, Blaine hadn’t been comfortable correcting random strangers on his sexual orientation; instead, he became rather adept at turning down his pursuers.

"I’m sorry, you’re not my type."

"No thank you, I’m not interested."

"I’m currently seeing someone."

"Engaged."

"Married."

"I’m about to leave the country."

The country one had only happened  _once_ , and Kurt had dared him, and Blaine had felt horrible for three hours about lying to some poor (but insistent) girl at the mall.

In New York, it’s easy for Blaine to say, “no, I have a boyfriend." Or, “no, I’m gay." Or anything else that tells girls that he is very much not available.

But there are far too many instances when the girls just don’t  _care_.

When they insist on giving Blaine their numbers, or press against him, or give him something for free, it makes Blaine uncomfortable and Kurt disgruntled.

He’s not  _jealous_ , please, but he’s not going to let some hussy think she’s even worthy of Blaine’s time. So he’ll move closer to Blaine. He might drape his arm over Blaine’s shoulders, or wrap an arm around his waist. A kiss isn’t so harmful, either. Or maybe a couple of kisses. Light groping? That’s totally appropriate for public, right?

And if they have to head home immediately after, well, that is obviously because they left a light on or something and one of them remembered somewhere in the back of their minds.

It’s obviously not dire enough when Kurt pushes Blaine up against the back of the door, slotting their hips together and licking into his mouth.

"I love it when you get jealous," Blaine pants. Like Kurt is the possessive one (and okay, maybe  _sometimes_ ).

"I’m not jealous."

Kurt wonders how many hickeys it will take before the girls in New York city take a fucking hint.


	5. Blue

There’s something about rainy days that just make Kurt feel melancholy.

Sure, it’s an amazing opportunity for him to make use of his rain wardrobe, but that is a pro that doesn’t quite weigh out the cons for him. He hates the parade of stark black umbrellas that seem to populate the streets of New York when it rains, and how it is nearly impossible for him to get anywhere without getting splashed in some way.

There is far too much water and he gets wet and cold and miserable.

But this rainy day is a Saturday, and Kurt has no intention of leaving the apartment. That doesn’t mean he can’t glare at the rain and sulk from the comfort of the living room, though.

When Blaine gets home from his part-time job at the library (one of three), it’s too Kurt curled up on the sofa in pajamas with a bowl of popcorn and four empty Diet Coke cans.

"Did you leave the apartment at all today?" Blaine is still shucking himself free from his wet clothing, although there’s really nothing to be done for his pants from the knee down.

"Nope," Kurt says, popping another piece of popcorn into his mouth as Blaine toes out of his shoes. Kurt’s focused on the television, a quilt curled around him and over his head like a paisley hood. Blaine nearly takes a picture, except for the fact that Kurt would no doubt kill him for it.

"So you’ve just been sitting on the couch watching…" Blaine walks closer until he catches sight of the TV, his lips tugging up at one side. “HGTV?"

"It’s addicting, Blaine!" Kurt turns to look at the sound of judgement in Blaine’s voice, hand clutched at the quilt and making him look utterly ridiculous.

"If the world could but see you now, Kurt Hummel."

"Shut up." Blaine attempts to dodge the piece of popcorn that’s thrown his way, but it just hits his shoulder and bounces off across the laminate floors.

"Uncalled for."

Debating the merits of simply stripping right there in the middle room versus, well,  _not_ , Blaine heads to their bedroom and changes into the warmest pair of sweats and the most worn t-shirt he owns. He’d spent the whole walk home longing for a shower, but his boyfriend is wearing a quilt like some sort of cloak. The shower can wait.

It’s a silent exchange when Blaine returns to the living room.

Kurt shuffles the quilt off of his head, leaving his hair sticking up in a million different directions, and opens it for Blaine to curl underneath as well. Which he does, right up alongside Kurt, until his toes are tucked beneath Kurt’s calves.

"You smell like New York City," Kurt comments, using the quilt to soak up some of the moisture in Blaine’s hair. It’s an old quilt, worn, and something Kurt acts like he hates but secretly loves, but that’s a story for another day.

"You smell like butter and home decorating." Blaine nuzzles into Kurt’s neck and Kurt lets out a single chuckle. He turns and kisses Blaine’s forehead, a belated welcome home, and Blaine smiles.

"I love rainy days," he hums, contently, snuggling closer to Kurt’s body heat.  _So_  much better than a shower. Kurt’s nose and eyebrows crinkle, scrunching his face in an adorable look of confusion and mild disgust.

“ _Why?_ ”

Blaine just settles more heavily into the couch, wrapping an arm around Kurt’s waist and pillowing his cheek on Kurt’s bicep.

"Because rainy days mean this."


	6. Indigo

Blaine had been adamant while apartment hunting that they must have a fire escape. To him, fire escapes were quintessential New York and would be the thing that separated an apartment in New York from an apartment in Ohio.

Kurt hadn’t exactly agreed to that, but Blaine was having a moment so Kurt had let it go for the time being (only to point out in the future, at every opportunity, how very different New York is from Ohio).

The fire escape thus became Blaine’s.

Not in any solid way, of course, and Kurt goes out there on occasion, but he simply doesn’t love it the way Blaine does. It’s Blaine’s corner the way the kitchen is Kurt’s, a space that is open to the both of them but belongs so easily to one of them.

Blaine uses his fire escape for almost the purpose it’s intended for: an escape. When he just needs someplace to go, detached from everything else, even if it’s just to get through a book he’s been meaning to read, Blaine opens the window in their living room and climbs out onto the wrought iron.

Kurt leaves him alone most times. He likes to give Blaine the time to think through whatever is on his mind before making his way through the window with a cup of hot chocolate and an open ear. It works for them.

One evening, when Kurt pulls himself into the apartment just after eleven at night, he notices the lights off save for the single table lamp in the living room. It’s quiet in an empty sort of way, but Blaine’s shoes are lined neatly by the door and his keys are hanging from their hook. Kurt’s eyes flick to the window and he hardly sets his bag down before making a beeline towards it.

He sees Blaine’s silhouette, backlit by the city lights, and doesn’t hesitate in opening the window. The sound (horrible, no matter how much they oil it or complain to the landlord), and Blaine’s head jerks in the direction.

"You’re home." Blaine’s voice is so relieved that it crushes something in Kurt’s chest, and he’s quickly moving towards Blaine and pulling him close.

The crushing has turned into pressure, a tightening that is painful, and Kurt tries to calm himself down. His instincts are to touch, to look for physical injury, to soothe and to comfort; they’re the instincts that overtake him whenever Blaine is like this. The feeling that Kurt is holding a baby bird and must do whatever he can to help it fly again.

"What happened?"

Blaine’s hands clutch into the back of Kurt’s coat. He’s not wearing gloves and Kurt  _needs_  to get him inside if the tip of Blaine’s nose against his neck is any indication.

But he doesn’t say anything, and Kurt shifts, pulling Blaine closer until he’s cradled in Kurt’s lap and arms. He’s not crying, just clinging to Kurt, the stuttered exhales of his breath the only real thing giving away his distress.

So Kurt just holds him. He opens his coat, moving to pull Blaine’s arm inside and shuddering at the icy fingers that move underneath his shirt to press at the muscles of his back. He rocks them, humming softly into Blaine’s ear, the music silent to the world as the din of New York drowns it out.

They’re two shadows on a New York fire escape, molded and compressed into a single figure. It’s their own world, Kurt’s humming and Blaine’s fingers, whispers of hot cocoa and a kiss that speaks volumes without making any sound.

Blaine doesn’t say what happened that night, and Kurt doesn’t push him to. They sit in a tangle until Kurt’s legs fall asleep and Blaine’s smile is easy again.

They fall into bed and don’t sleep, talking and kissing and touching until the sky lightens from midnight to indigo. In the dim light of the dawn, as New York wakes up after never really sleeping, Blaine lays his head on Kurt’s chest and tells him.


	7. Purple

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of my [Purple Daisies Verse (Daddy!Klaine)](http://archiveofourown.org/series/20084).

The idea of painting a nursery had, at first, seemed like fun to Blaine. It was going to be their  _daughter’s room_ , where she would no doubt live for the rest of her life or at least until they could afford a bigger house. Blaine wanted it to be perfect.

He just hadn’t wanted it to be perfect nearly as much as Kurt did.

What had seemed like a fun venture slowly turned into Kurt’s obsession and, with that, one of Blaine’s least favorite things. He began to dread the word “nursery."

But that doesn’t stop him from being a good husband and future dad. Despite the fact that they have at least fifteen paint swatch booklets at home, there are still some days when Kurt insists they go to this or that home improvement or design store to look at more chips in person. Blaine can hardly do anything but oblige, dragging his feet and dreaming of themed nurseries that Babys-R-Us practically puts together for you (but Kurt refuses to buy anything off the baby-furniture-rack).

Blaine is thankful enough that the color palette has been narrowed down some. Kurt doesn’t want anything too cliché (no pink, no blue) or anything too garish (no orange), or anything too bold (no red, no black). And, of course, absolutely no white or variation thereof.

Blaine has been on a lot of paint chip trips.

"I like  _Mint Gala_." Kurt hums as he picks over the green paint chips while Blaine goes through the motions, flipping through whatever stack Kurt had handed him a few moments before. “Than again,  _Ultra Green_  is nice too… Blaine?"

He looks up at the two paint chips, squinting.

"…Kurt, those are practically the same color."

"They are  _not_.  _Ultra Green_  obviously has more yellow in it." Kurt tsks, shaking his head and shuffling his own handful of chips around.

"No yellow?" Blaine asks, since that’s currently the stack he’s been assigned to.

"I just… We have yellow in the house already, and I don’t want it to be too much. Do you think making Daisy’s room yellow would be too much?"

Blaine honestly doesn’t think so, but he knows that Kurt isn’t looking for a definitive answer. So he shrugs, and Kurt just nods to himself.

"It  _is_  too much." Kurt takes the yellow stack from Blaine and begins to methodically place them all back where he found them. Blaine follows, almost running smack into Kurt when he pauses suddenly.

"Kurt?" Blaine asks, a tinge of worry to his voice. Has Kurt gone into some sort of paint induced panic attack?

"Purple?" Kurt says in response, spinning to face Blaine.

"Um. What?"

“ **Pur-ple** **.** " Kurt enunciates and Blaine rolls his eyes.

"Yes, I heard you, what about purple? I thought you said purple was both cliché and droll," Blaine recalls.

"But what if it wasn’t a droll purple, sort of like…" Kurt turns to the display right next to them and Blaine wonders if that’s why he stopped so suddenly. He pulls up a paint chip, holding it close to his face as if that will help Blaine see it better.

“ _Easter Basket_ ," Blaine reads aloud, and he smiles because he’s always enjoyed the quirky name for paint colors. “That’s bolder than the other colors you were looking at." Kurt had been looking at more muted colors, which had surprised Blaine at first. The rest of their house very much made a statement, making most of the colors Kurt had been fawning over seem bland in comparison.

"But can’t you just see a little girl’s room painted in this color? Better yet, a preteen? A teenager? It’s  _versatile_ _._ ”

Blaine laughs.

"Well, to be honest, it’s the first color you’ve picked out that I’ve liked." Kurt’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise but then he sighs, mock-exasperated, as if he shouldn’t really be surprised by this information.

"Well, we’re just getting started." Blaine groans and Kurt links their arms together, grinning. “We have a lot of purple chips to compare."

"Daisy better really  _love_  purple."


	8. Pink

One of Blaine’s favorite things is Kurt’s propensity to blush.

It was something that had started before Blaine had really even allowed himself to look at Kurt as anything but a friend. It hadn’t even been something entirely conscious, just the offhand thought that it was something that Kurt should do more often.

Over time, Blaine discovered the multitude of Kurt’s blushes.

There’s the one when he’s embarrassed. Not ashamed, because when Kurt is ashamed the color leaves his face completely. But when he’s been talking too long about his newest eBay win or tugs the sugar packet too hard that it spills everywhere or when he would turn a corner and run smack into Blaine, his cheeks  _burn_  pink. It touches the tips of his ears and, later in their relationship, Blaine would see the way it would bleed down from his hairline and all along the back of his neck.

There’s the one when he’s flattered. It’s just a light hint, rounding out his cheeks, but it’s sustained. Kurt preens, lifts his chin, and distracts, but Blaine always see the way he almost starts to glow from just that slight flush of color.

There’s the one when he’s been laughing too hard. When it spreads across his entire face and he can’t breathe, until he buries his face in his arm or Blaine’s shoulder. He’ll complain later, when the redness is slow to fade, poking at the splotches on his skin. But Blaine kisses every single trace of color, happy for the reminder of Kurt’s laughter.

There’s the one when he’s turned on. A flush that spreads out from his chest and seems to take over every  _inch_  of Kurt. It’s a signal to Blaine, one that makes heat curl in his stomach, a Pavlovian response that makes him hungry with need. It deepens and becomes richer and stays and stays and stays until they collapse together, coming down and cuddling together as Kurt’s skin turns milky white again.

Then there’s the one when he’s flustered. The one that graces all of Blaine’s best memories. The one that stained Kurt’s cheekbones the prettiest color after Blaine had kissed him the first time, or when he’d held Kurt’s hand during their first date, or when Blaine had told Kurt he loved him for the first time. It doesn’t come as easily now, but it’s like a highlighter throughout Blaine’s life;  _remember this moment_ , it says, _remember it always_.


	9. White

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A part of my [Purple Daisies Verse (Daddy!Klaine)](http://archiveofourown.org/series/20084).

It’s 3:47 in the morning and Kurt can’t sleep.

He’s staring at the ceiling, wishing his eyelids will start feeling heavy or that his brain will calm down. They don’t. As minutes pass, his brain only becomes more frantic because he  _really_  needs to sleep.

He kicks the blankets off and pulls them back on.

Throws one leg out, then both of them, and then tucks them under the comforter again.

Lays on his left side, his right, his back, his stomach.

Curls closer to Blaine, then away, until eventually he’s on his back again and still nowhere near tired.

At 4:02, Blaine stirs, gets out of bed, and stumbles through the darkness to the bathroom. He comes back, lays down, and then turns towards Kurt, eyes squinting as they readjust to the darkness.

"You’re still awake?" His voice is thick with sleep, and he holds out his arms as Kurt scoots back into them.

"I can’t sleep. How are you sleeping? I can’t—" Blaine pushes a finger to Kurt’s lips and he quiets.

"Breathe." His voice is clearing as he wakes up, and Kurt feels guilty for not placating him back to sleep.

"She’s getting married tomorrow." Kurt’s voice cracks, but he’s smiling. Blaine traces the curve of Kurt’s lips with the pad of his thumb and smiles back.

"She is," Blaine whispers back, his voice full of warmth.

"How are you so… Calm?"

"What? You don’t want her to get married?" Blaine’s eyebrows furrow and Kurt is quick to shake his head.

"No, that’s not it at all, I love Andrew, it’s just…" Kurt’s voice catches and Blaine begins to run his hand up and down Blaine’s spine.

"It’s just that our little girl is getting married."

Kurt can’t even speak. He closes his eyes, nodding his head into Blaine’s chest and trying not to cry. Because Daisy is getting married in fourteen hours and their little girl will be all grown up.

"How did this happen?"

"Well, Andrew came and asked us—"

"Blaine!"

"What? Sweetheart, you know how this happened. I know it seems like only yesterday that we brought her home, but… Daisy’s a big girl now."

Kurt looks up at Blaine, sees that his eyes are as glassy as Kurt’s feel.

"You know, I always thought you would be the one freaking out."

Blaine makes an incredulous noise, punting his nose into Kurt’s forehead playfully.

"I did my freaking out when she went off to college eight years ago. I’ve been biding my time for your eventual downfall."

"Such a loving husband you are."

Blaine just pecks a kiss to Kurt’s hairline and holds him tighter.

"We’re not losing her, you know," Blaine says, after a moment. “Remember what you said to me after we left her all the way in California and I had that embarrassing crying fit in the airport?"

Kurt tries not to laugh at the mental image Blaine just painted, even if the actual event had been rather heart breaking.

"Remind me?"

Blaine pulls Kurt closer, hugging him as tightly as possible and touching his lips to Kurt’s ear.

"That no matter where she goes, or who she’s with, or what she does with her life, she will always be our little girl."

Kurt smiles.

"I knew I married the right man."

Blaine chuckles.

"After thirty one years of marriage, I’d certainly hope so."


	10. Black

"Wow."

Kurt turns from the mirror where he’s been obsessively adjusting the lapels of his vest to see his dad closing the door behind him. Kurt rolls his eyes fondly before gazing back at his reflection, wondering why every way the fabric seems to fall on him is wrong.

"It’s just a suit, dad."

Except it really isn’t. It is a suit that Kurt had practically had custom made, tailored perfectly to fit him in the most flattering of ways and made of the right textures and color’s to compliment Blaine’s perfectly. But, to his dad, it will always be just a suit.

"Yeah, well, it’s one hell of a suit." Burt’s reflection appears behind his son in the mirror, and Kurt closes his eyes for a moment, remembering the last time they’d stood like this. Except that last time, Burt had been the one getting married.

"Well, it  _would_  be if it wasn’t on  _me_." Kurt tugs and flips and undoes and redoes a button before groaning in frustration. Nevermind that not a few days ago he had been wearing the same exact suit and smiling gleefully at how fabulous and attractive his reflection had been.

Today is really the worst day to be suffering from hate-himself syndrome.

"Kurt." His dad tugs on his shoulder until he can’t look in the mirror anymore, and already that’s helping. Two large hands land on his shoulders, comforting even after all these years, even after Kurt’s shoulders have stopped being scrawny and he’s grown taller than his own father.

"You getting cold feet?"

"No." Kurt doesn’t even hesitate. Burt lifts an eyebrow at him, and Kurt sighs, gripping his elbows and casting his eyes around.

"It’s not cold feet. It’s… It’s me wanting everything to be perfect. It’s not Blaine. It could  _never_  be Blaine. I may make a lot of mistakes today, but not one of those mistakes is him." He smiles, thinking of how Blaine isn’t too far away, primping and pulling and gazing too long in a mirror.

"This is… It’s right, dad. Marrying Blaine is  _right._ It always has been." Kurt doesn’t elaborate, knows that his dad is well aware of exactly how long the always Kurt is referring to is. “Nothing is going to stop me from walking down that isle and being with Blaine forever. Not a sharp violinist, or someone bringing an extra guest, or a stupid tuxedo. I would marry Blaine in pajamas, I would—"

But Burt is laughing now and Kurt’s sentence drops off in the midst of his heated speech of passion, causing him to frown.

"I  _would_ ," Kurt insists, and doesn’t his dad  _know_  that?

"I’m not saying you wouldn’t. Kurt, I see the way you look at Blaine, the way that boy—that man—looks at you. You don’t have to go telling me that this is right." Burt smiles up at him. “But if you’d marry Blaine in your pajamas, I don’t see how any suit is going to stop you."

Kurt opens his mouth and then falters. Because his dad is right. He’s not going to be looking at the audience’s faces and reactions or at the flowers ornamenting the seventh row on the right side to see if they’d stopped wilting. He won’t even be looking at Blaine’s suit because Blaine will be right there.

He’ll be looking at Blaine, and Blaine will be looking at him, and that’s how it’s going to be.

Forever.


End file.
